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EVANGELINE 

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
With Illustrations by 
F. O. C. DARLEY 


















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This is the forest primeval 












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EVANGELINE 
A TALE OF ACADIE 

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
F O C DARLEY 



CAMBRIDGE 

printet) at tlje Ktocrsfoe press 

MDCCCXCIII 


COPYRIGHT, 1882, 1886, AND 1892 
BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COM- 
PANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



.*> > 


<£>ne ^unbred and Jriftg Copies 
printed. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



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ci 


PAGE 

This is the forest primeval Frontispiece 

The parish priest and the children 12 

Down the long street she passed 16 

On the slope of the hill was the well 18 

They stood with wondering eyes . 22 

Twilight descending 


Brought back . . . the herds to the homestead 28 

Apart, in the twilight, . . . 


Sat the lovers 46 

Thronged were the streets with people 50 

Merrily whirled the . . . dizzying dances 52 

Then came the guard from the ships 54 

Driving . . . their household goods to the sea-shore ... 66 

Wives were tom from their husbands 70 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ... 90 
Into this wonderful land . . . 

Gabriel far had entered 124 

They found only embers and ashes 128 

“ Father, I thank thee ” 152 


s 



EVANGELINE 


' J^HIS is the forest primeval. The murmur- 
ing pines and the hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, in- 
distinct in the twilight, 

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and 
prophetic, 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest 
on their bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 
neighboring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 
wail of the forest. 


8 


Evangeline 


This is the forest primeval ; but where are 
the hearts that beneath it 

Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the 
woodland the voice of the huntsman ? 

Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home 
of Acadian farmers, — 

Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water 
the woodlands, 

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting 
an image of heaven ? 

Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farm- 
ers forever departed ! 

Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 
blasts of October 

Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle 
them far o’er the ocean. 

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful 
village of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 
endures, and is patient, 


Evangeline 


9 


Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of 
woman’s devotion, 

List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 
pines of the forest; 

List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the 
happy. 



PART THE FIRST 

I 

JN the Acadian land, on the shores of the 
Basin of Minas, 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of 
Grand-Pr6 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows 
stretched to the eastward, 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to 
flocks without number. 

Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 
with labor incessant, 

Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated 
seasons the flood-gates 


12 


Evangeline 


Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at 
will o’er the meadows. 

West and south there were fields of flax, and 
orchards and cornfields 

Spreading afar and unfenced o’er the plain ; 
and away to the northward 

Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on 
the mountains 

Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 
mighty Atlantic 

Looked on the happy valley, but ne’er from 
their station descended. 

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the 
Acadian village. 

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of 
oak and of chestnut, 

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the 
reign of the Henries. 

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; 
and gables projecting 


The parish priest and the children 






















































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Evangeline 


13 


Over the basement below protected and shaded 
the door-way. 

There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 
brightly the sunset 

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 
on the chimneys, 

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps 
and in kirtles 

Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spin- 
ning the golden 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shut- 
tles within doors 

Mingled their sound with the whir of the 
wheels and the songs of the maidens. 

Solemnly down the street came the parish 
priest, and the children 

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he ex- 
tended to bless them. 

Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 
matrons and maidens, 


14 


Evangeline 


Hailing his slow approach with words of af- 
fectionate welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, 
and serenely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
from the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs 
of the village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in* 
cense ascending, 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of 
peace and contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Aca- 
dian farmers, — 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike 
were they free from 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the 
vice of republics. 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars 
to their windows ; 


Evangeline 


15 


But their dwellings were open as day and the 
hearts of the owners ; 

There the richest was poor, and the poorest 
lived in abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer 
the Basin of Minas, 

Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 
Grand-Pr6, 

Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, di- 
recting his household, 

Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the 
pride of the village. 

Stalworth and stately in form was the man of 
seventy winters ; 

Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 
with snow-flakes ; 

White as the snow were his locks, and his 
cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. 

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seven- 


teen summers. 


1 6 Evangeline 

Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on 
the thorn by the wayside, 

Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 
brown shade of her tresses ! 

Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine 
that feed in the meadows. 

When in the harvest heat she bore to the 
reapers at noontide 

Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth 
was the maiden. 

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while 
the bell from its turret 

Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 
with his hyssop 

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters bless- 
ings upon them, 

Down the long street she passed, with her 
chaplet of beads and her missal, 

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of 
blue, and the ear-rings, 


Down the long street she passed 













































































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Evangeline 


1 7 

Brought in the olden time from France, and 
since, as an heirloom, 

Handed down from mother to child, through 
long generations. 

But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal 
beauty — 

Shone on her face and encircled her form, 
when, after confession, 

Homeward serenely she walked with God’s 
benediction upon her. 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceas- 
ing of exquisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house 
of the farmer 

Stood on the side of a hill commanding the 
sea ; and a shady 

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine 
wreathing around it. 

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats be- 
neath ; and a footpath 


1 8 Evangeline 

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared 
in the meadow. 

Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung 
by a penthouse, 

Such as the traveller sees in regions remote 
by the roadside, 

Built o’er a box for the poor, or the blessed 
image of Mary. 

Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the 
well with its moss-grown 

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough 
for the horses. 

Shielding the house from storms, on the north, 
were the barns and the farm-yard, 

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the 
antique ploughs and the harrows ; 

There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, 
in his feathered seraglio, 

Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, 
with the selfsame 


On the slope of the hill was the well 



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4 




Evangeline 19 

Voice that in ages of old had startled the peni- 
tent Peter. 

Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves 
a village. In each one 

Far o’er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; 
and a staircase, 

Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odor- 
ous corn-loft. 

There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and 
innocent inmates 

Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the 
variant breezes 

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang 
of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the 
farmer of Grand-Pre 

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- 
erned his household. 

Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
opened his missal, 


20 


Evangeline 


Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his 
deepest devotion ; 

Happy was he who might touch her hand or 
the hem of her garment ! 

Many a suitor came to her door, by the dark- 
ness befriended, 

And, as he knocked and waited to hear the 
sound of her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or 
the knocker of iron ; 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of 
the village, 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance 
as he whispered 

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of 
the music. 

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only 
was welcome ; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 
smith, 


Evangeline 


21 


Who was a mighty man in the village, and 
honored of all men ; 

For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages 
and nations, 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute 
by the people. 

Basil was Benedict’s friend. Their children from 
earliest childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister ; and 
Father Felician, 

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had 
taught them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of 
the church and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily 
lesson completed, 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil 
the blacksmith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering 
eyes to behold him 


22 


Evangeline 


Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse 
as a plaything, 

Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him 
the tire of the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle 
of cinders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the 
gathering darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 
every cranny and crevice, 

Warm by the forge within they watched the 
laboring bellows, 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks ex- 
pired in the ashes, 

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going 
into the chapel. 

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop 
of the eagle, 

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away 
o’er the meadow. 


They stood with wondering eyes 


































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Evangeline 


23 


Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous 
nests on the rafters, 

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 
which the swallow 

Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the 
sight of its fledglings ; 

Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest 
of the swallow ! 

Thus passed a few swift years, and they no 
longer were children. 

He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the 
face of the morning, 

Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
thought into action. 

She was a woman now, with the heart and 
hopes of a woman. 

“ Sunshine of Saint Eulalie ” was she called ; 
for that was the sunshine 

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
orchards with apples ; 


24 


Evangeline 


She, too, would bring to her husband's house 
delight and abundance, 

Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of 
children. 


Evangeline 


25 


II 

OW had the season returned, when the 
nights grow colder and longer, 

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scor- 
pion enters. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, 
from the ice-bound, 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of trop- 
ical islands. 

Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the 
winds of September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old 
with the angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclem- 
ent. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoard- 
ed their honey 


2 6 Evangeline 

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunt- 
ers asserted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the 
fur of the foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then fol- 
lowed that beautiful season, 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Sum- 
mer of All-Saints ! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
light ; and the landscape 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of 
childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the rest- 
less heart of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were 
in harmony blended. 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks 
in the farm-yards, 

Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the coo- 
ing of pigeons, 


Evangeline 27 

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of 
love, and the great sun 

Looked with the eye of love through the golden 
vapors around him ; 

While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet 
and yellow, 

Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glit- 
tering tree of the forest 

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 
with mantles and jewels. 

Now recommenced the reign of rest and af- 
fection and stillness. 

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and 
twilight descending 

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and 
the herds to the homestead. 

Pawing the ground they came, and resting their 
necks on each other, 

And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 
freshness of evening. 


28 Evangeline 

Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline’s beautiful 
heifer, 

Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that 
waved from her collar, 

Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 
affection. 

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 
flocks from the seaside, 

Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 
followed the watch-dog, 

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride 
of his instinct, 

Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 
superbly 

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the 
stragglers ; 

Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; 
their protector, 

When from the forest at night, through the 
starry silence, the wolves howled. 


Brought back . 


Twilight descending 
the herds to the homestead 


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Evangeline 


29 


Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains 
from the marshes, 

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its 
odor. 

Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 
manes and their fetlocks, 

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 
ponderous saddles, 

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with 
tassels of crimson, 

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy 
with blossoms. 

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 
their udders 

Unto the milkmaid’s hand ; whilst loud and in 
regular cadence 

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets 
descended. 

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard 
in the farm-yard, 


30 Evangeline 

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into 
stillness ; 

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves 
of the barn-doors, 

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season 
was silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 
idly the farmer 

Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the 
flames and the smoke-wreaths 

Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 
Behind him, 

Nodding and mocking along the wall, with 
gestures fantastic, 

Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away 
into darkness. 

Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his 
arm-chair 

Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter 
plates on the dresser 


Evangeline 


31 


Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of 
armies the sunshine. 

Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols 
of Christmas, 

Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 
before him 

Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Bur- 
gundian vineyards. 

Close at her father’s side was the gentle Evan- 
geline seated, 

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the 
corner behind her. 

Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its 
diligent shuttle, 

While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like 
the drone of a bagpipe, 

Followed the old man’s song, and united the frag- 
ments together. 

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at 
intervals ceases, 


32 


Evangeline 


Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of 
the priest at the altar, 

So, in each pause of the song, with measured 
motion the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 
and, suddenly lifted, 

Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 
back on its hinges. 

Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was 
Basil the blacksmith, 

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who 
was with him. 

“ Welcome ! ” the farmer exclaimed, as their foot- 
steps paused on the threshold, 

“Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy 
place on the settle 

Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 
without thee ; 

Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 
box of tobacco ; 


Evangeline 33 

Never so much thyself art thou as when through 
the curling 

Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 
jovial face gleams 

Round and red as the harvest moon through the 
mist of the marshes.” 

Then, with a smile of content, thus answered 
Basil the blacksmith, 

Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the 
fireside : — 

“Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 
and thy ballad ! 

Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others 
are filled with 

Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before 
them. 

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked 
up a horseshoe.” 

Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evan- 
geline brought him, 


3 


34 


Evangeline 


And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 
slowly continued : — 

“Four days now are passed since the English 
ships at their anchors 

Ride in the Gaspereau’s mouth, with their cannon 
pointed against us. 

What their design may be is unknown ; but all 
are commanded 

On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 
Majesty’s mandate 

Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in 
the mean time 

Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 
people.” 

Then made answer the farmer : — “ Perhaps some 
friendlier purpose 

Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 
harvests in England 

By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 
blighted, 


Evangeline 


35 


And from our bursting barns they would feed 
their cattle and children.” 

“Not so thinketh the folk in the village,” said, 
warmly, the blacksmith, 

Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a 
sigh, he continued : — 

“Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, 
nor Port Royal. 

Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on 
its outskirts, 

Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of 
to-morrow. 

Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weap- 
ons of all kinds ; 

Nothing is left but the blacksmith’s sledge and 
the scythe of the mower.” 

Then with a pleasant smile made answer the 
jovial farmer: — 

“ Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 
and our cornfields, 


3 6 Evangeline 

Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the 
ocean, 

Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy’s 
cannon. 

Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 
shadow of sorrow 

Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the 
night of the contract 

Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads 
of the village 

Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking 
the glebe round about them, 

Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food 
for a twelvemonth. 

Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers 
and inkhorn. 

Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy 
of our children ? ” 

As apart by the window she stood, with her hand 
in her lover’s, 


Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 
father had spoken, 

And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary 
entered. 


38 


Evangeline 


III 

T)ENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the 
surf of the ocean, 

Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the 
notary public ; 

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 
maize, hung 

Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 
glasses with horn bows 

Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 
supernal. 

Father of twenty children was he, and more than 
a hundred 

Children’s children rode on his knee, and heard 
his great watch tick. 

Four long years in the times of the war had he 
languished a captive, 


Evangeline 


39 


Suffering much in an old French fort as the 
friend of the English. 

Now, though warier grown, without all guile or 
suspicion, 

Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, 
and childlike. 

He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 
children ; 

For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the 
forest, 

And of the goblin that came in the night to 
water the horses, 

And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child 
who unchristened 

Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the 
chambers of children ; 

And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in 
the stable, 

And how the fever was cured by a spider shut 
up in a nutshell, 


40 


Evangeline 


And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved 
clover and horseshoes, 

With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the 
village. 

Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil 
the blacksmith, 

Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly 
extending his right hand, 

“Father Leblanc,” he exclaimed, “thou hast 
heard the talk in the village, 

And, perchance, canst tell us some news of 
these ships and their errand.” 

Then with modest demeanor made answer the 
notary public: — 

“Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 
never the wiser ; 

And what their errand may be I know not bet- 
ter than others. 

Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 
intention 


Evangeline 


4i 


Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why 
then molest us?” 

“ God’s name ! ” shouted the hasty and some- 
what irascible blacksmith ; 

“Must we in all things look for the how, and 
the why, and the wherefore? 

Daily injustice is done, and might is the right 
of the strongest!” 

But, without heeding his warmth, continued the 
notary public: — 

“Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally 
justice 

Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that 
often consoled me, 

When as a captive I lay in the old French fort 
at Port Royal.” 

This was the old man’s favorite tale, and he 
loved to repeat it 

When his neighbors complained that any injus- 
tice was done them. 


42 


Evangeline 


“Once in an ancient city, whose name I no 
longer remember, 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of 
Justice 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales 
in its left hand, 

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that jus- 
tice presided 

Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 
homes of the people. 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales 
of the balance, 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 
sunshine above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land 
were corrupted ; 

Might took the place of right, and the weak 
were oppressed, and the mighty 

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a 
nobleman’s palace 


Evangeline 43 

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong 
a suspicion 

Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the 
household. 

She, after form of trial condemned to die on the 
scaffold, 

Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 
of Justice. 

As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 
ascended, 

Lo ! o’er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts 
of the thunder 

Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath 
from its left hand 

Down on the pavement below the clattering 
scales of the balance, 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest 
of a magpie, 

Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of 
pearls was inwoven.” 


44 


Evangeline 


Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was 
ended, the blacksmith 

Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 
findeth no language ; 

All his thoughts were congealed into lines on 
his face, as the vapors 

Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes 
in the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on 
the table, 

Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 
home-brewed 

Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength 
in the village of Grand-Pre ; 

While from his pocket the notary drew his pa- 
pers and inkhorn, 

Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age 
of the parties, 

Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of 
sheep and in cattle. 


Evangeline 


45 


Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well 
were completed, 

And the great seal of the law was set like a 
sun on the margin. 

Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw 
on the table 

Three times the old man’s fee in solid pieces 
of silver; 

And the notary rising, and blessing the bride 
and the bridegroom, 

Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to 
their welfare. 

Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed 
and departed, 

While in silence the others sat and mused by 
the fireside, 

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out 
of its corner. 

Soon was the game begun. In friendly con- 
tention the old men 


4 6 Evangeline 

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful ma- 
noeuvre, 

Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 
was made in the king-row. 

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a 
window’s embrasure, 

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, behold- 
ing the moon rise 

Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
meadows. 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
heaven, 

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots 
of the angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell 
from the belfry 

Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, 
and straightway 

Rose the guests and departed ; and silence 
reigned in the household. 


Apart, in the twilight, . 
Sat the lovers 























* 







* 

















♦ 

Wm\ ttW \ ft?. 

































- 












Evangeline 


47 


Many a farewell word and sweet good night 
on the door-step 

Lingered long in Evangeline’s heart, and filled 
it with gladness. 

Carefully then were covered the embers that 
glowed on the hearth-stone, 

And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread 
of the farmer. 

Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evange- 
line followed. 

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in 
the darkness, 

Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face 
of the maiden. 

Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door 
of her chamber. 

Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 
white, and its clothes-press 

Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were 
carefully folded 


48 Evangeline 

Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evange- 
line woven. 

This was the precious dower she would bring to 
her husband in marriage, 

Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her 
skill as a housewife. 

Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow 
and radiant moonlight 

Streamed through the windows, and lighted the 
room, till the heart of the maiden 

Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous 
tides of the ocean. 

Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she 
stood with 

Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of 
her chamber! 

Little she dreamed that below, among the trees 
of the orchard, 

Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of 
her lamp and her shadow. 


Evangeline 


49 


Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a 
feeling of sadness 

Passed o’er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds 
in the moonlight 

Flitted across the floor and darkened the room 
for a moment. 

And, as she gazed from the window, she saw 
serenely the moon pass 

Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star 
follow her footsteps, 

As out of Abraham’s tent young Ishmael wandered 
with Hagar! 


50 


Evangeline 


IV 

"PLEASANTLY rose next morn the sun on 

A the village of Grand-Pr6. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the 
Basin of Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and 
clamorous labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden 
gates of the morning. 

Now from the country around, from the farms 
and neighboring hamlets, 

Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
peasants. 

Many a glad good morrow and jocund laugh from 
the young folk 


Thronged were the streets with people 





































» 








» ityyto v\\ v\yj? . 






9 














Evangeline 


5i 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the 
numerous meadows, 

Where no path could be seen but the track of 
wheels in the greensward, 

Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed 
on the highway. 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor 
were silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people; and 
noisy groups at the house-doors 

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped 
together. 

Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed 
and feasted ; 

For with this simple people, who lived like broth- 
ers together, 

All things were held in common, and what one 
had was another’s. 

Yet under Benedict’s roof hospitality seemed 
more abundant : 


52 Evangeline 

For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
father ; 

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of 
welcome and gladness 

Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup 
as she gave it. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
orchard, 

Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of 
betrothal. 

There in the shade of the porch were the priest 
and the notary seated ; 

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 
blacksmith. 

Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press 
and the beehives, 

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest 
of hearts and of waistcoats. 

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately 
played on his snow-white 


M errily whirled the . . . dizzy nig dances 





































. 





























... taYutar 

* 




































Evangeline 


53 


Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face 
of the fiddler 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are 
blown from the embers. 

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of 
his fiddle, 

Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres , and Le Carillon de 
Dunkerque , 

And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to 
the music. 

Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzy- 
ing dances 

Under the orchard-trees and down the path to 
the meadows ; 

Old folk and young together, and children min- 
gled among them. 

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Bene- 
dict’s daughter! 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of 
the blacksmith! 


54 Evangeline 

So passed the morning away. And lo! with 
a summons sonorous 

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 
meadows a drum beat. 

Thronged erelong was the church with men. 
Without, in the churchyard, 

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 
and hung on the headstones 

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh 
from the forest. 

Then came the guard from the ships, and march- 
ing proudly among them 

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dis- 
sonant clangor 

Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from 
ceiling and casement, — 

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the pon- 
derous portal 

Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the 
will of the soldiers. 


Then came the guard from the ships 



























%*■' ' ■ \vw*\Vvtw*^ \\ v. ' v 





\ 






Evangeline 


55 


Then uprose their commander, and spake from 
the steps of the altar, 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the 
royal commission. 

“You are convened this day,” he said, “by his 
Majesty’s orders. 

Clement and kind has he been ; but how you 
have answered his kindness, 

Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural 
make and my temper 

Painful the task is I do, which to you I know 
must be grievous. 

Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will 
of our monarch ; 

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 
cattle of all kinds 

Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you your- 
selves from this province 

Be transported to other lands. God grant you 
may dwell there 


56 Evangeline 

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 
people ! 

Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his 
Majesty’s pleasure!” 

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice 
of summer, 

Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling 
of the hailstones 

Beats down the farmer’s corn in the field and 
shatters his windows, 

Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 
thatch from the house-roofs, 

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 
enclosures ; 

So on the hearts of the people descended the 
words of the speaker. 

Silent a moment they stood in speechless won- 
der, and then rose 

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 
anger, 


Evangeline 


57 


And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed 
to the door-way. 

Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and 
fierce imprecations 

Rang through the house of prayer; and high 
o’er the heads of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil 
the blacksmith, 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the 
billows. 

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; 
and wildly he shouted, — 

" Down with the tyrants of England ! we never 
have sworn them allegiance ! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on 
our homes and our harvests ! ” 

More he fain would have said, but the merci- 
less hand of a soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him 
down to the pavement. 


5 8 Evangeline 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry 
contention, 

Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
Felician 

Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the 
steps of the altar. 

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he 
awed into silence 

All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake 
to his people ; 

Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents 
measured and mournful 

Spake he, as, after the tocsin’s alarum, distinctly 
the clock strikes. 

“ What is this that ye do, my children ? what 
madness has seized you? 

Forty years of my life have I labored among 
you, and taught you, 

Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one 
another ! 


Evangeline 


59 


Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 
prayers and privations? 

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love 
and forgiveness? 

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 
would you profane it 

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 
with hatred ? 

Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross 
is gazing upon you ! 

See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness 
and holy compassion! 

Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 
‘O Father, forgive them!’ 

Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 
wicked assail us, 

Let us repeat it now, and say, ‘O Father, for- 
give them!’” 

Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 
hearts of his people 


6o 


Evangeline 


Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the 
passionate outbreak, 

While they repeated his prayer, and said, “O 
Father, forgive them!” 

Then came the evening service. The tapers 
gleamed from the altar. 

Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, 
and the people responded, 

Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and 
the Ave Maria 

Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their 
souls, with devotion translated, 

Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascend- 
ing to heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tid- 
ings of ill, and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the 
women and children. 


Evangeline 


6 1 


Long at her father’s door Evangeline stood, 
with her right hand 

Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the 
sun, that, descending, 

Lighted the village street with mysterious splen- 
dor, and roofed each 

Peasant’s cottage with golden thatch, and em- 
blazoned its windows. 

Long within had been spread the snow-white 
cloth on the table ; 

There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey 
fragrant with wild-flowers ; 

There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 
fresh brought from the dairy ; 

And, at the head of the board, the great arm- 
chair of the farmer. 

Thus did Evangeline wait at her father’s door, 
as the sunset 

Threw the long shadows of trees o’er the broad 
ambrosial meadows. 


62 Evangeline 

Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 
fallen, 

And from the fields of her soul a fragrance 
celestial ascended, — 

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgive- 
ness, and patience ! 

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into 
the village, 

Cheering with looks and words the mournful 
hearts of the women, 

As o’er the darkening fields with lingering steps 
they departed. 

Urged by their household cares, and the weary 
feet of their children. 

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glim- 
mering vapors 

Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet 
descending from Sinai. 

Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 
sounded. 


Evangeline 


63 


Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evan- 
geline lingered. 

All was silent within ; and in vain at the door 
and the windows 

Stood she, and listened and looked, till, over- 
come by emotion, 

“ Gabriel ! ” cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 
but no answer 

Came from the graves of the dead, nor the 
gloomier grave of the living. 

Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 
house of her father. 

Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board 
was the supper untasted, 

Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 
with phantoms of terror. 

Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 
of her chamber. 

In the dead of the night she heard the discon- 
solate rain fall 


6 4 


Evangeline 


Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree 
by the window. 

Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of 
the echoing thunder 

Told her that God was in heaven, and governed 
the world he created ! 

Then she remembered the tale she had heard of 
the justice of Heaven ; 

Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peace- 
fully slumbered till morning. 


Evangeline 


65 


V 

T^OUR times the sun had risen and set; and 
now on the fifth day 

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids 
of the farm-house. 

Soon o’er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful 
procession, 

Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms 
the Acadian women, 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods 
to the sea-shore. 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 
their dwellings, 

Ere they were shut from sight by the winding 
road and the woodland. 

Close at their sides their children ran, and urged 
on the oxen, 


66 


Evangeline 


While in their little hands they clasped some 
fragments of playthings. 

Thus to the Gaspereau’s mouth they hurried ; 
and there on the sea-beach 

Piled in confusion lay the household goods of 
the peasants. 

All day long between the shore and the ships 
did the boats ply; 

All day long the wains came laboring down from 
the village. 

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near 
to his setting, 

Echoed far o’er the fields came the roll of drums 
from the churchyard. 

Thither the women and children thronged. On 
a sudden the church-doors 

Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching 
in gloomy procession 

Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Aca- 
dian farmers. 


Driving . . . their household goods to the sea-shore 


































s\\\ ^ v.m\\ . v; 4 ‘5V\Vi 



















Evangeline 67 

Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 
homes and their country, 

Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 
weary and wayworn, 

So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants 
descended 

Down from the church to the shore, amid their 
wives and their daughters. 

Foremost the young men came ; and, raising 
together their voices, 

Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic 
Missions : — 

“ Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible 
fountain ! 

Fill our hearts this day with strength and sub- 
mission and patience ! ” 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
women that stood by the wayside 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the 
sunshine above them 


68 


Evangeline 


Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of 
spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited 
in silence, 

Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour 
ol affliction, — 

Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession 
approached her, 

And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 
emotion. 

Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running 
to meet him, 

Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 
shoulder, and whispered, — 

“ Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one 
another, 

Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
chances may happen!” 

Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly 
paused, for her father 


Evangeline 69 

Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 
was his aspect ! 

Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 
from his eye, and his footstep 

Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy 
heart in his bosom. 

But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his 
neck and embraced him, 

Speaking words of endearment where words of 
comfort availed not. 

Thus to the Gaspereau’s mouth moved on that 
mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
stir of embarking. 

Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the con- 
fusion 

Wives were torn from their husbands, and moth- 
ers, too late, saw their children 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with 
wildest entreaties. 


70 Evangeline 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 
carried, 

While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 
with her father. 

Half the task was not done when the sun went 
down, and the twilight 

Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste 
the refluent ocean 

Fled away from the shore, and left the line of 
the sand-beach 

Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and 
the slippery sea-weed. 

Farther back in the midst of the household goods 
and the wagons, 

Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a bat- 
tle, 

All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels 
near them, 

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Aca- 
dian farmers. 


Wives were torn from their husbands 





























































































































































































































































































































































































Evangeline yi 

Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellow- 
ing ocean, 

Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, 
and leaving 

Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats 
of the sailors. 

Then, as the night descended, the herds returned 
from their pastures ; 

Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of 
milk from their udders ; 

Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known 
bars of the farm-yard, — 

Waited and looked in vain for the voice and 
the hand of the milkmaid. 

Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church 
no Angelus sounded, 

Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no 
lights from the windows. 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires 
had been kindled, 


72 Evangeline 

Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
wrecks in the tempest. 

Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces 
were gathered, 

Voices of women were heard, and of men, and 
the crying of children. 

Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth 
in his parish, 

Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and bless- 
ing and cheering, 

Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Mehta’s desolate 
sea-shore. 

Thus he approached the place where Evangeline 
sat with her father, 

And in the flickering light beheld the face of 
the old man, 

Haggard and hollow and wan, and* without either 
thought or emotion, 

E’en as the face of a clock from which the hands 
have been taken. 


Evangeline 


73 


Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses 
to cheer him, 

Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he 
looked not, he spake not, 

But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flick- 
ering fire-light. 

“ Benedicite !” murmured the priest, in tones of 
compassion. 

More he fain would have said, but his heart 
was full, and his accents 

Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of 
a child on a threshold, 

Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 
presence of sorrow. 

Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head 
of the maiden, 

Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that 
above them 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs 
and sorrows of mortals. 


74 


Evangeline 


Then sat he down at her side, and they wept 
together in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 
autumn the blood-red 

Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and 
o’er the horizon 

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon 
mountain and meadow, 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
shadows together. 

Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 
of the village, 

Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 
that lay in the roadstead. 

Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes 
of flame were 

Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 
the quivering hands of a martyr. 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the 
burning thatch, and, uplifting, 


Evangeline 


7 5 


Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from 
a hundred house-tops 

Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 
intermingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on 
the shore and on shipboard. 

Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud 
in their anguish, 

“We shall behold no more our homes in the 
village of Grand-Pre!” 

Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in 
the farm-yards, 

Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the 
lowing of cattle 

Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 
dogs interrupted. 

Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 
sleeping encampments 

Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt 
the Nebraska, 


y6 Evangeline 

When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with 
the speed of the whirlwind, 

Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to 
the river. 

Such was the sound that arose on the night, 
as the herds and the horses 
Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
rushed o’er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, 
the priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
widened before them ; 

And as they turned at length to speak to their 
silent companion, 

Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 
abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had 
departed. 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and 
the maiden 


Evangeline 77 

Knelt at her father’s side, and wailed aloud in 
her terror. 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head 
on his bosom. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
slumber ; 

And when she woke from the trance, she beheld 
a multitude near her. 

Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 
gazing upon her, 

Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest 
compassion. 

Still the blaze of the burning village illumined 
the landscape, 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 
faces around her, 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her 
wavering senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to 
the people, — 


78 


Evangeline 


“Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 
happier season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 
land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in 
the churchyard.” 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in 
haste by the seaside, 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
torches, 

But without bell or book, they buried the farmer 
of Grand-Pre. 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the ser- 
vice of sorrow, 

Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a 
vast congregation, 

Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar 
with the dirges. 

'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the 
waste of the ocean, 


Evangeline 


79 


With the first dawn of the day, came heaving 
and hurrying landward. 

Then recommenced once more the stir and noise 
of embarking ; 

And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed 
out of the harbor, 

Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, 
and the village in ruins. 



PART THE SECOND 

I 

TV /T ANY a weary year had passed since the 

^ burning of Grand-Pr6, 

When on the falling tide the freighted vessels 
departed, 

Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, 
into exile, 

Exile without an end, and without an example 
in story. 

Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 
landed ; 

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when 
the wind from the northeast 


Evangeline 


81 


Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 
Banks of Newfoundland. 

Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered 
from city to city, 

From the cold lakes of the North to sultry South- 
ern savannas, — 

From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands 
where the Father of Waters 

Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them 
down to the ocean, 

Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones 
of the mammoth. 

Friends they sought and homes ; and many, de- 
spairing, heart-broken, 

Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer 
a friend nor a fireside. 

Written their history stands on tablets of stone 
in the churchyards. 

Long among them was seen a maiden who waited 
and wandered, 


82 Evangeline 

Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering 
all things. 

Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her 
extended, 

Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, 
with its pathway 

Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed 
and suffered before her, 

Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead 
and abandoned, 

As the emigrant’s way o’er the Western desert 
is marked by 

Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach 
in the sunshine. 

Something there was in her life incomplete, im- 
perfect, unfinished ; 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and 
sunshine, 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly 
descended 


Evangeline 83 

Into the east again, from whence it late had 
arisen. 

Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by 
the fever within her, 

Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and 
thirst of the spirit, 

She would commence again her endless search 
and endeavor; 

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on 
the crosses and tombstones, 

Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that 
perhaps in its bosom 

He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber 
beside him. 

Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate 
whisper, 

Came with its airy hand to point and beckon 
her forward. 

Sometimes she spake with those who had seen 
her beloved and known him, 


84 Evangeline 

But it was long ago, in some far-off place or for- 
gotten. 

“Gabriel Lajeunesse ! ” they said; “O yes! we 
have seen him. 

He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have 
gone to the prairies ; 

Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters 
and trappers.” 

“Gabriel Lajeunesse!” said others; “O yes! we 
have seen him. 

He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisi- 

_ _ „ » 
ana. 

Then would they say, “ Dear child ! why dream 
and wait for him longer? 

Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? 
others 

Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits 
as loyal? 

Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary’s son, who 
has loved thee 


Evangeline 8; 

Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand 
and be happy! 

Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine’s 
tresses.” 

Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sad- 
ly, “ I cannot! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my 
hand, and not elsewhere. 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, 
and illumines the pathway, 

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden 
in darkness.” 

Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-con- 
fessor, 

Said, with a smile, “ O daughter ! thy God thus 
speaketh within thee ! 

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 
wasted ; 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, 
returning 


86 


Evangeline 


Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them 
full of refreshment ; 

That which the fountain sends forth returns 
again to the fountain. 

Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy 
work of affection! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient en- 
durance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
heart is made godlike, 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered 
more worthy of heaven ! ” 

Cheered by the good man’s words, Evangeline 
labored and waited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 
the ocean, 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice 
that whispered, “Despair not!” 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 
cheerless discomfort, 


Evangeline 87 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns 
of existence. 

Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wander- 
er’s footsteps; — 

Not through each devious path, each changeful 
year of existence ; 

But as a traveller follows a streamlet’s course 
through the valley : 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the 
gleam of its water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at 
intervals only; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan 
glooms that conceal it, 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its contin- 
uous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it 
reaches an outlet. 


88 


Evangeline 


II 

J T was the month of May. Far down the 
Beautiful River, 

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 
Wabash, 

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 
Mississippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by 
Acadian boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from 
the shipwrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating 
together, 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 
common misfortune ; 

Men and women and children, who, guided by 
hope or by hearsay, 


Evangeline 89 

Sought for their kith and their kin among the 
few-acred farmers 

On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 
Opelousas. 

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the 
Father Felician. 

Onward o’er sunken sands, through a wilderness 
sombre with forests, 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 
river ; 

Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped 
on its borders. 

Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, 
where plumelike 

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 
swept with the current, 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery 
sand-bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves 
of their margin, 


90 


Evangeline 


Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of 
pelicans waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores 
of the river, 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant 
gardens, 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins 
and dove-cots. 

They were approaching the region where reigns 
perpetual summer, 

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves 
of orange and citron, 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to 
the eastward. 

They, too, swerved from their course ; and, enter- 
ing the Bayou of Plaquemine, 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 
waters, 

Which, like a network of steel, extended in every 
direction. 


Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river 




























































<■ 






























•wj'n A m\\ ?.‘ir'.V»vv WnV^'iyXS *; v,\> v- 













Evangeline 


9i 


Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 
boughs of the cypress 

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in 
mid-air 

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of 
ancient cathedrals. 

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save 
by the herons 

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning 
at sunset, 

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with 
demoniac laughter. 

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and 
gleamed on the water, 

Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar 
sustaining the arches, 

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as 
through chinks in a ruin. 

Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 
things around them ; 


92 


Evangeline 


And o’er their spirits there came a feeling of 
wonder and sadness, — 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot 
be compassed. 

As, at the tramp of a horse’s hoof on the turf 
of the prairies, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the 
shrinking mimosa, 

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings 
of evil, 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of 
doom has attained it. 

But Evangeline’s heart was sustained by a vision, 
that faintly 

Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on 
through the moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed 
the shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wan- 
dered before her, 


Evangeline 


93 


And every stroke of the oar now brought him 
nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, 
rose one of the oarsmen, 

And, as a signal sound, if others like them per- 
adventure 

Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, 
blew a blast on his bugle. 

Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors 
leafy the blast rang, 

Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues 
to the forest. 

Soundless above them the banners of moss just 
stirred to the music. 

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the 
distance, 

Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 
branches ; 

But not a voice replied ; no answer came from 
the darkness ; 


94 


Evangeline 


And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense 
of pain was the silence. 

Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 
through the midnight, 

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian 
boat-songs, 

Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian 
rivers, 

While through the night were heard the myste- 
rious sounds of the desert, 

Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in 
the forest, 

Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar 
of the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from the 
shades ; and before them 

Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atcha- 
falaya. 

Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undu- 
lations 


Evangeline 


95 


Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
beauty, the lotus 

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
boatmen. 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of 
magnolia blossoms, 

And with the heat of noon ; and numberless 
sylvan islands, 

Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming 
hedges of roses, 

Near to whose shores they glided along, invited 
to slumber. 

Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were 
suspended. 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew 
by the margin, 

Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered 
about on the greensward, 

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers 
slumbered. 


9 6 Evangeline 

Over them vast and high extended the cope of 
a cedar. 

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower 
and the grape-vine 

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder 
of Jacob, 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, 
descending, 

Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from 
blossom to blossom. 

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she 
slumbered beneath it. 

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn 
of an opening heaven 

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of 
regions celestial. 

Nearer and ever nearer, among the number- 
less islands, 

Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er 
the water, 


Evangeline 


97 


Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters 
and trappers. 

Northward its prow was turned, to the land of 
the bison and beaver. 

At the helm sat a youth, with countenance 
thoughtful and care-worn. 

Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, 
and a sadness 

Somewhat beyond his years on his face was 
legibly written. 

Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy 
and restless, 

Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and 
of sorrow. 

Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of 
the island, 

But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen 
of palmettos, 

So that they saw not the boat, where it lay 
concealed in the willows, 


Evangeline 


All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and 
unseen, were the sleepers, 

Angel of God was there none to awaken the 
slumbering maiden. 

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a 
cloud on the prairie. 

After the sound of their oars on the tholes had 
died in the distance, 

As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and 
the maiden 

Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, “ O Father 
Felician ! 

Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 
wanders. 

Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague super- 
stition ? 

Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth 
to my spirit?” 

Then, with a blush, she added, “Alas for my 
credulous fancy! 


Evangeline 99 

Unto ears like thine such words as these have 
no meaning.” 

But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled 
as he answered, — 

“ Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they 
to me without meaning. 

Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that 
floats on the surface 

Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the 
anchor is hidden. 

Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the 
world calls illusions. 

Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to 
the southward, 

On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of 
St. Maur and St. Martin. 

There the long-wandering bride shall be given 
again to her bridegroom, 

There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and 
his sheepfold. 


100 


Evangeline 


Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests 
of fruit-trees ; 

Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest 
of heavens 

Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls 
of the forest. 

They who dwell there have named it the Eden 
of Louisiana.” 

With these words of cheer they arose and 
continued their journey. 

Softly the evening came. The sun from the 
western horizon 

Like a magician extended his golden wand o’er 
the landscape ; 

Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and 
forest 

Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and 
mingled together. 

Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges 
of silver, 


Evangeline 


IOI 


Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 
motionless water. 

Filled was Evangeline’s heart with inexpressible 
sweetness. 

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains 
of feeling 

Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 
waters around her. 

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking- 
bird, wildest of singers, 

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o’er 
the water, 

Shook from his little throat such floods of de- 
lirious music, 

That the whole air and the woods and the waves 
seemed silent to listen. 

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then 
soaring to madness 

Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of 
frenzied Bacchantes. 


102 


Evangeline 


Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low 
lamentation ; 

Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 
abroad in derision, 

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through 
the tree-tops 

Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower 
on the branches. 

With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 
throbbed with emotion, 

Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 
through the green Opelousas, 

And, through the amber air, above the crest of 
the woodland, 

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a 
neighboring dwelling ; — 

Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant 
lowing of cattle. 


Evangeline 


103 


III 

EAR to the bank of the river, o’ershadowed 
by oaks, from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe 
flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets 
at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herds- 
man. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 
blossoms, 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself 
was of timbers 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted 
together. 

Large and low was the roof ; and on slender 
columns supported, 


104 


Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spa- 
cious veranda, 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, ex- 
tended around it. 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of 
the garden, 

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love’s perpetual 
symbol, 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless conten- 
tions of rivals. 

Silence reigned o’er the place. The line of shadow 
and sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house 
itself was in shadow, 

And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly 
expanding 

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 
rose. 

In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, 
ran a pathway 


Evangeline 


105 


Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of 
the limitless prairie, 

Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly- 
descending. 

Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy 
canvas 

Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 
calm in the tropics, 

Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage 
of grape-vines. 

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf 
of the prairie, 

Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle 
and stirrups, 

Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet 
of deerskin. 

Broad and brown was the face that from under 
the Spanish sombrero 

Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look 
of its master. 


io 6 Evangeline 

Round about him were numberless herds of kine, 
that were grazing 

Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory 
freshness 

That uprose from the river, and spread itself over 
the landscape. 

Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and 
expanding 

Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that 
resounded 

Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp 
air of the evening. 

Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns 
of the cattle 

Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents 
of ocean. 

Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing 
rushed o’er the prairie, 

And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade 
in the distance. 


Evangeline 


io 7 


Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, 
through the gate of the garden 

Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 
advancing to meet him. 

Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in 
amazement, and forward 

Rushed with extended arms and exclamations 
of wonder ; 

When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil 
the blacksmith. 

Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to 
the garden. 

There in an arbor of roses with endless question 
and answer 

Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 
friendly embraces, 

Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent 
and thoughtful. 

Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark 
doubts and misgivings 


108 Evangeline 

Stole o’er the maiden’s heart ; and Basil, some- 
what embarrassed, 

Broke the silence and said, "If you came by 
the Atchafalaya, 

How have you nowhere encountered my Ga- 
briel’s boat on the bayous?” 

Over Evangeline’s face at the words of Basil a 
shade passed. 

Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 
tremulous accent, 

" Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? ” and, concealing her 
face on his shoulder, 

All her o’erburdened heart gave way, and she 
wept and lamented. 

Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew 
blithe as he said it, — 

“ Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day 
he departed. 

Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds 
and my horses. 


Evangeline 109 

Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, 
his spirit 

Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet 
existence. 

Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 
ever, 

Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 
troubles, 

He at length had become so tedious to men and 
to maidens, 

Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought 
me, and sent him 

Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with 
the Spaniards. 

Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 
Ozark Mountains, 

Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping 
the beaver. 

Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the 
fugitive lover; 


no 


Evangeline 


He is not far on his way, and the Fates and 
the streams are against him. 

Up and away to-morrow, and through the red 
dew of the morning 

We will follow him fast, and bring him back 
to his prison.” 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 
banks of the river, 

Borne aloft on his comrades’ arms, came Michael 
the fiddler. 

Long under Basil’s roof had he lived like a god 
on Olympus, 

Having no other care than dispensing music to 
mortals. 

Far renowned was he for his silver locks and 
his fiddle. 

“ Long live Michael,” they cried, “ our brave 
Acadian minstrel!” 

As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; 
and straightway 


Evangeline 


hi 


Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greet- 
ing the old man 

Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while 
Basil, enraptured, 

Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and 
gossips, 

Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers 
and daughters. 

Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the 
ci-devant blacksmith, 

All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal 
demeanor ; 

Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the 
soil and the climate, 

And of the prairies, whose numberless herds 
were his who would take them; 

Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would 
go and do likewise. 

Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the 
breezy veranda, 


1 12 


Evangeline 


Entered the hall of the house, where already 
the supper of Basil 

Waited his late return; and they rested and 
feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness 
descended. 

All was silent without, and, illuming the land- 
scape with silver, 

Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; 
but within doors, 

Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends 
in the glimmering lamplight. 

Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 
table, the herdsman 

Poured forth his heart and his wine together 
in endless profusion. 

Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 
Natchitoches tobacco, 

Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 
smiled as they listened : — 


Evangeline 


113 

“Welcome once more, my friends, who long 
have been friendless and homeless, 

Welcome once more to a home, that is better 
perchance than the old one ! 

Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like 
the rivers ; 

Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of 
the farmer. 

Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, 
as a keel through the water. 

All the year round the orange-groves are in 
blossom ; and grass grows 

More in a single night than a whole Canadian 
summer. 

Here, too, numberless herds run wild and un- 
claimed in the prairies ; 

Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and 
forests of timber 

With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 
into houses. 


Evangeline 


1 14 

After your houses are built, and your fields are 
yellow with harvests, 

No King George of England shall drive you away 
from your homesteads, 

Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing 
your farms and your cattle.” 

Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud 
from his nostrils, 

While his huge, brown hand came thundering 
down on the table, 

So that the guests all started ; and Father Fe- 
lician, astounded, 

Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half- 
way to his nostrils. 

But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were 
milder and gayer: — 

“Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware 
of the fever! 

For it is not like that of our cold Acadian 
» climate, 


Evangeline 


115 

Cured by wearing a spider hung round one’s 
neck in a nutshell ! ” 

Then there were voices heard at the door, and 
footsteps approaching 

Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the 
breezy veranda. 

It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian 
planters, 

Who had been summoned all to the house of 
Basil the Herdsman. 

Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and 
neighbors : 

Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 
before were as strangers, 

Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends 
to each other, 

Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 
together. 

But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, 
proceeding 


ii6 Evangeline 

From the accordant strings of Michael’s melo- 
dious fiddle, 

Broke up all further speech. Away, like children 
delighted, 

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves 
to the maddening 

Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed 
to the music, 

Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 
fluttering garments. 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the 
priest and the herdsman 

Sat, conversing together of past and present and 
future ; 

While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 
within her 

Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of 
the music 

Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irre- 
pressible sadness 


Evangeline 


ii 7 


Came o’er her heart, and unseen she stole forth 
into the garden. 

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall 
of the forest, 

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon, 
On the river 

Fell here and there through the branches a 
tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened 
and devious spirit. 

Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 
of the garden 

Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 
prayers and confessions 

Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 
Carthusian. 

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 
shadows and night-dews, 

Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and 
the magical moonlight 


n8 Evangeline 

Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable 
longings, 

As, through the garden gate, and beneath the 
shade of the oak-trees, 

Passed she along the path to the edge of the 
measureless prairie. 

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and 
fireflies 

Gleaming and floating away in mingled and 
infinite numbers. 

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God 
in the heavens, 

Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to 
marvel and worship, 

Save when a blazing comet was seen on the 
walls of that temple, 

As if a hand had appeared and written upon 
them, “Upharsin.” 

And the soul of the maiden, between the stars 
and the fireflies, 


Evangeline 


1 19 

Wandered alone, and she cried, “ O Gabriel ! 
O my beloved! 

Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot 
behold thee? 

Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice 
does not reach me? 

Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to 
the prairie ! 

Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the 
woodlands around me ! 

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from 
labor, 

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of 
me in thy slumbers. 

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be 
folded about thee ? ” 

Loud and sudden and near the note of a whip- 
poorwill sounded 

Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through 
the neighboring thickets, 


1 20 Evangeline 

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 
into silence. 

“ Patience ! ” whispered the oaks from oracular 
caverns of darkness ; 

And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 
“ To-morrow ! ” 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the 
flowers of the garden 

Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 
anointed his tresses 

With the delicious balm that they bore in their 
vases of crystal. 

“ Farewell ! ” said the priest, as he stood at the 
shadowy threshold; 

“See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from 
his fasting and famine, 

And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when 
the bridegroom was coming” 

“Farewell!” answered the maiden, and, smiling, 
with Basil descended 


Evangeline 


121 


Down to the river’s brink, where the boatmen 
already were waiting. 

Thus beginning their journey with morning, and 
sunshine, and gladness, 

Swiftly they followed the flight of him who 
was speeding before them, 

Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over 
the desert. 

Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that 
succeeded, 

Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest 
or river. 

Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but 
vague and uncertain 

Rumors alone were their guides through a wild 
and desolate country; 

Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of 
Adayes, 

Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from 
the garrulous landlord, 


122 


Evangeline 


That on the day before, with horses and guides 
and companions, 

Gabriel left the village, and took the road of 
the prairies. 


Evangeline 


123 


IV 

T^AR in the West there lies a desert land, 
where the mountains 

Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and 
luminous summits. 

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where 
the gorge, like a gateway, 

Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emi- 
grant’s wagon, 

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway 
and Owyhee. 

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind- 
river Mountains, 

Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate 
leaps the Nebraska; 

And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and 
the Spanish sierras, 


124 


Evangeline 


Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by 
the wind of the desert, 

Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, de- 
scend to the ocean, 

Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and 
solemn vibrations. 

Spreading between these streams are the won- 
drous, beautiful prairies, 

Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and 
sunshine, 

Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and 
purple amorphas. 

Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the 
elk and the roebuck; 

Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of 
riderless horses ; 

Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 
weary with travel ; 

Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ish- 
mael’s children, 


Into this wonderful land . 
Gabriel far had entered 


. i\' < \n\ 

WaVv- Vva\ tv \ \'\i A\ • ' 








Evangeline 


125 


Staining the desert with blood ; and above their 
terrible war-trails 

Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the 
vulture, 

Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaugh- 
tered in battle, 

By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the 
heavens. 

Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 
these savage marauders ; 

Here and there rise groves from the margins 
of swift-running rivers ; 

And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk 
of the desert, 

Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots 
by the brookside, 

And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 
heaven, 

Like the protecting hand of God inverted above 
them. 


126 Evangeline 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the 
Ozark Mountains, 

Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and 
trappers behind him. 

Day after day, with their Indian guides, the 
maiden and Basil 

Followed his flying steps, and thought each day 
to o’ertake him. 

Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 
smoke of his camp-fire 

Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; 
but at nightfall, 

When they had reached the place, they found 
only embers and ashes. 

And, though their hearts were sad at times and 
their bodies were weary, 

Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata 
Morgana 

Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated 
and vanished before them. 


Evangeline 


127 


Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 
silently entered 

Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose 
features 

Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as 
great as her sorrow. 

She was a Shawnee woman returning home to 
her people, 

From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel 
Camanches, 

Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des- 
Bois, had been murdered. 

Touched were their hearts at her story, and 
warmest and friendliest welcome 

Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 
feasted among them 

On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on 
the embers. 

But when their meal was done, and Basil and 
all his companions, 


128 


Evangeline 


Worn with the long day’s march and the chase 
of the deer and the bison, 

Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 
where the quivering fire-light 

Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 
wrapped up in their blankets, 

Then at the door of Evangeline’s tent she sat 
and repeated 

Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of 
her Indian accent, 

All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 
pains, and reverses. 

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know 
that another 

Hapless heart like her own had loved and had 
been disappointed. 

Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and 
woman’s compassion, 

Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had 
suffered was near her, 


They found only embers and ashes 














































Evangeline 1 29 

She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
ters. 

Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when 
she had ended 

Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious 
horror 

Passed through her brain, she spake, and re- 
peated the tale of the Mowis ; 

Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 
wedded a maiden, 

But, when the morning came, arose and passed 
from the wigwam, 

Fading and melting away and dissolving into 
the sunshine, 

Till she beheld him no more, though she followed 
far into the forest. 

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed 
like a weird incantation, 

Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was 
wooed by a phantom, 


130 


Evangeline 


That, through the pines o’er her father’s lodge, 
in the hush of the twilight, 

Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered 
love to the maiden, 

Till she followed his green and waving plume 
through the forest, 

And never more returned, nor was seen again 
by her people. 

Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evan- 
geline listened 

To the soft flow of her magical words, till the 
region around her 

Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swar- 
thy guest the enchantress. 

Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains 
the moon rose, 

Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 
splendor 

Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and 
filling the woodland. 


Evangeline 


131 

With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, 
and the branches 

Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible 
whispers. 

Filled with the thoughts of love was Evange- 
line’s heart, but a secret, 

Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite 
terror, 

As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the 
nest of the swallow. 

It was no earthly fear. A breath from the re- 
gion of spirits 

Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she 
felt for a moment 

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pur- 
suing a phantom. 

With this thought she slept, and the fear and 
the phantom had vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was re- 
sumed ; and the Shawnee 


132 


Evangeline 


Said, as they journeyed along, “ On the west- 
ern slope of these mountains 

Dwells in his little village the Black Robe 
chief of the Mission. 

Much he teaches the people, and tells them of 
Mary and Jesus ; 

Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep 
with pain, as they hear him ” 

Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, 
Evangeline answered, 

“Let us go to the Mission, for there good tid- 
ings await us ! ” 

Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind 
a spur of the mountains, 

Just as the sun went down, they heard a mur- 
mur of voices, 

And in a meadow green and broad, by the 
bank of a river, 

Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of 
the Jesuit Mission. 


Evangeline 


133 


Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst 
of the village, 

Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. 
A crucifix fastened 

High on the trunk of the tree, and overshad- 
owed by grape-vines, 

Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 
kneeling beneath it. 

This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through 
the intricate arches 

Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
pers, 

Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and 
sighs of the branches. 

Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, 
nearer approaching, 

Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the 
evening devotions. 

But when the service was done, and the bene- 
diction had fallen 


134 


Evangeline 


Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed 
from the hands of the sower, 

Slowly the reverend man advanced to the stran- 
gers and bade them 

Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled 
with benignant expression, 

Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother- 
tongue in the forest, 

And, with words of kindness, conducted them 
into his wigwam. 

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and 
on cakes of the maize-ear 

Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the wa- 
ter gourd of the teacher. 

Soon was their story told ; and the priest with 
solemnity answered : — 

“Not six suns have risen and set since Ga- 
briel, seated 

On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 
reposes, 


Evangeline 


135 


Told me this same sad tale; then arose and 
continued his journey!” 

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake 
with an accent of kindness ; 

But on Evangeline’s heart fell his words as in 
winter the snow-flakes 

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds 
have departed. 

“Far to the north he has gone,” continued the 
priest; “but in autumn, 

When the chase is done, will return again to 
the Mission.” 

Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek 
and submissive, 

“Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad 
and afflicted.” 

So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and be- 
times on the morrow, 

Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian 
guides and companions, 


Evangeline 


136 

Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed 
at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded 
each other, — 

Days and weeks and months ; and the fields 
of maize that were springing 

Green from the ground when a stranger she 
came, now waving above her, 

Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interla- 
cing, and forming 

Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pil- 
laged by squirrels. 

Then in the golden weather the maize was 
husked, and the maidens 

Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that beto- 
kened a lover, 

But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief 
in the cornfield. 

Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought 
not her lover. 


Evangeline 


137 


“ Patience ! ” the priest would say ; “ have faith, 
and thy prayer will be answered ! 

Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head 
from the meadow, 

See how its leaves are turned to the north, as 
true as the magnet ; 

This is the compass-flower, that the finger of 
God has planted 

Here in the houseless wild, to direct the travel- 
ler’s journey 

Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of 
the desert. 

Such in the soul of man is faith. The blos- 
soms of passion, 

Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and 
fuller of fragrance, 

But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and 
their odor is deadly. 

Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 
hereafter 


138 


Evangeline 


Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet 
with the dews of nepenthe.” 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the 
winter, — yet Gabriel came not ; 

Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes 
of the robin and bluebird 

Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet 
Gabriel came not. 

But on the breath of the summer winds a ru- 
mor was wafted 

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of 
blossom. 

Far to the north and east, it said, in the 
Michigan forests, 

Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the 
Saginaw river. 

And, with returning guides, that sought the 
lakes of St. Lawrence, 

Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from 
the Mission. 


Evangeline 139 

When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
marches, 

She had attained at length the depths of the 
Michigan forests, 

Found she the hunter’s lodge deserted and fallen 
to ruin ! 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and 
in seasons and places 

Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
maiden ; — 

Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Mo- 
ravian Missions, 

Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields 
of the army, 

Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and popu- 
lous cities. 

Like a phantom she came, and passed away 
unremembered. 

Fair was she and young, when in hope began 
the long journey ; 


140 Evangeline 

Faded was she and old, when in disappointment 
it ended. 

Each succeeding year stole something away 
from her beauty, 

Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the 
gloom and the shadow. 

Then there appeared and spread faint streaks 
of gray o’er her forehead, 

Dawn of another life, that broke o’er her earth- 
ly horizon, 

As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of 
the morning. 


Evangeline 


141 


V 

J N that delightful land which is washed by 
the Delaware’s waters, 

Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn 
the apostle, 

Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 
city he founded. 

There all the air is balm, and the peach is the 
emblem of beauty, 

And the streets still re-echo the names of the 
trees of the forest, 

As if they fain would appease the Dryads 
whose haunts they molested. 

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline 
landed, an exile, 

Finding among the children of Penn a home 
and a country. 


142 Evangeline 

There old Ren6 Leblanc had died; and when 
he departed, 

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred 
descendants. 

Something at least there was in the friendly 
streets of the city, 

Something that spake to her heart, and made 
her no longer a stranger ; 

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and 
Thou of the Quakers, 

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian coun- 
try, 

Where all men were equal, and all were broth- 
ers and sisters. 

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 
endeavor, 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, 
uncomplaining, 

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 
thoughts and her footsteps. 


Evangeline 


M3 


As from a mountain’s top the rainy mists of 
the morning 

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape 
below us, 

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities 
and hamlets, 

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw 
the world far below her, 

Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; 
and the pathway 

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth 
and fair in the distance. 

Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart 
was his image, 

Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as 
last she beheld him, 

Only more beautiful made by his deathlike si- 
lence and absence. 

Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for 


144 


Evangeline 


Over him years had no power; he was not 
changed, but transfigured ; 

He had become to her heart as one who is 
dead, and not absent; 

Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion 
to others, 

This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow 
had taught her. 

So was her love diffused, but, like to some 
odorous spices, 

Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the 
air with aroma. 

Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but 
to follow 

Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of 
her Saviour. 

Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mer- 
cy; frequenting 

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded 
lanes of the city, 


Evangeline 145 

Where distress and want concealed themselves 
from the sunlight, 

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 
neglected. 

Night after night, when the world was asleep, 
as the watchman repeated 

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was 
well in the city, 

High at some lonely window he saw the light 
of her taper. 

Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as 
slow through the suburbs 

Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 
fruits for the market, 

Met he that meek, pale face, returning home 
from its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell 
on the city, 


146 


Evangeline 


Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by 
flocks of wild pigeons, 

Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught 
in their craws but an acorn. 

And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month 
of September, 

Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to 
a lake in the meadow, 

So death flooded life, and, o’erflowing its natu- 
ral margin, 

Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of 
existence. 

Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 
charm, the oppressor ; 

But all perished alike beneath the scourge of 
his anger ; — 

Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends 
nor attendants, 

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of 
the homeless. 


Evangeline 


H7 


Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 
meadows and woodlands ; — 

Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its 
gateway and wicket 

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble 
walls seem to echo 

Softly the words of the Lord : — “ The poor ye 
always have with you.” 

Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister 
of Mercy. The dying 

Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, 
to behold there 

Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead 
with splendor, 

Such as the artist paints o’er the brows of 
saints and apostles, 

Or such as hangs by night o’er a city seen at 
a distance. 

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the 
city celestial, 


148 


Evangeline 


Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits 
would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, 
deserted and silent, 

Wending her quiet way, she entered the door 
of the almshouse. 

Sweet on the summer air was the odor of 
flowers in the garden ; 

And she paused on her way to gather the 
fairest among them, 

That the dying once more might rejoice in 
their fragrance and beauty. 

Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corri- 
dors, cooled by the east wind, 

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from 
the belfry of Christ Church, 

While, intermingled with these, across the mead- 
ows were wafted 

Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the 
Swedes in their church at Wicaco. 


Evangeline 


149 


Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the 
hour on her spirit; 

Something within her said, ‘‘At length thy 
trials are ended ” ; 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the 
chambers of sickness. 

Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 
attendants, 

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching 
brow, and in silence 

Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and con- 
cealing their faces, 

Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of 
snow by the roadside. 

Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 
entered, 

Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 
passed, for her presence 

Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on 
the walls of a prison. 


150 


Evangeline 


And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, 
the consoler, 

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed 
it forever. 

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the 
night-time ; 

Vacant their places were, or filled already by 
strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling 
of wonder, 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, 
while a shudder 

Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the 
flowerets dropped from her fingers, 

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and 
bloom of the morning. 

Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 
terrible anguish, 

That the dying heard it, and started up from 
their pillows. 


Evangeline 


I5i 

On the pallet before her was stretched the 
form of an old man. 

Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 
shaded his temples ; 

But, as he lay in the morning light, his face 
for a moment 

Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 
earlier manhood ; 

So are wont to be changed the faces of those 
who are dying. 

Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush 
of the fever, 

As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had be- 
sprinkled its portals, 

That the Angel of Death might see the sign* 
and pass over. 

Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his 
spirit exhausted 

Seemed to be sinking down through infinite 
depths in the darkness, 


152 


Evangeline 


Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking 
and sinking. 

Then through those realms of shade, in multi- 
plied reverberations, 

Heard he that cry of pain, and through the 
hush that succeeded 

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 
saint-like, 

“ Gabriel ! O my beloved ! ” and died away into 
silence. 

Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the 
home of his childhood ; 

Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers 
among them, 

Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, 
walking under their shadow, 

As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose 
in his vision. 

Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he 
lifted his eyelids, 


Father , I thank thee ” 






























































I 










Evangeline 


153 


Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt 
by his bedside. 

Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 
accents unuttered 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed 
what his tongue would have spoken. 

Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneel- 
ing beside him, 

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
bosom. 

Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it sud- 
denly sank into darkness, 

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of 
wind at a casement. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, 
and the sorrow, 

All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 
longing, 

All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish 
of patience ! 


r 54 


Evangeline 


And, as she pressed once more the lifeless 
head to her bosom, 

Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 
“ Father, I thank thee ! ” 



OTILL stands the forest primeval ; but far 
away from its shadow, 

Side by side, in their nameless graves, the 
lovers are sleeping. 

Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 
churchyard, 

In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown 
and unnoticed. 

Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing 
beside them, 

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are 
at rest and forever, 

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no 
longer are busy, 


156 


Evangeline 


Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 
ceased from their labors, 

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have 
completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under 
the shade of its branches 

Dwells another race, with other customs and 
language. 

Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 
Atlantic 

Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers 
from exile 

Wandered back to their native land to die in 
its bosom. 

In the fisherman’s cot the wheel and the loom 
are still busy ; 

Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 
kirtles of homespun, 

And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline’s 
story, 


Evangeline 


157 


While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 
neighboring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 
wail of the forest. 











r 





y 





















